Page 177 of Scourged

Even in death, Ryenne’s Armature stood guard around their queen.

Beside the shrouded body of one of Ryenne’s Armature was Delaynie, her black gown harsh against her pale skin, dark auburn hair falling in ringlets down her back. Her mother stood at her side, hair only a few shades darker and beginning to streak with gray. Their faces were solemn, their postures tired, leaning into and on each other as they stood in a silent wake.

Mariah had expected to see them there, saying goodbye to a father and a partner, one last time.

She hadn’t expected to see the man standing behind them, a baldric of knives strapped across his chest, bright red hair pushed back from his face. A face that wore an uncharacteristically open expression, the concern and sympathy on his features clear as day.

Quentin’s bottle green eyes drifted toward Mariah as if sensing his queen. He blinked, almost in surprise, glancing once more at Delaynie before pulling away, walking quietly to Mariah and Andrian. Andrian subtly lifted a brow, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Feeling pious, Quentin?”

Quentin shot Andrian a brutal glare. “Fuck you, Andrian. I’m just being a good friend.”

Mariah tilted her head. “Since when were you and Delaynie friends?”

Quentin shifted uncomfortably. “She just lost her dad. I figured she could use some extra support.”

Mariah felt Andrian’s growl begin in his chest—felt his surge of indignant anger down their bond. “And yourqueenjust had her family cap?—”

“It’s okay.” She rested a hand on Andrian’s arm. Turning back to Quentin, she let a gentle smile play across her lips. The movement felt off, uncomfortable, not something that fit against the pieces of her rage.

But she tried.

“I’m glad you’re there for her. Someone should be.”

Quentin blanched, expression softening. “She knows you’re there for her, M. I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty.”

Mariah’s smile turned sad, morphing into something more authentic. “I know you didn’t. And I don’t. I’m just saying—thank you. For being there for her.”

Quentin opened his mouth before closing it, dipping his head. “Of course.”

Mariah’s gaze wandered away from his, trailing until it landed on Delaynie and her mother. Continued until it reached the small body lying prone in the center of the room.

“Stay here,” she commanded softly.

Andrian’s fingers brushed across the back of her hand, a whisper of a caress, as Quentin dipped his head again.

With quiet steps, Mariah walked first to Delaynie and her mother, Briella, silent beside Steven’s shrouded body. Just a few paces from them, Mariah paused. They wore simple yet elegant gowns of black lace and tulle, their skirts hanging in layers around their legs.

She looked so savage when compared to these women, these ladies. In truth, she’d always felt a little savage beside Delaynie, with her moon-white skin and poised demeanor. Mariah had seen that elegant exterior slip more than a few times now, but the Delaynie that now stood before her fallen father was the same one raised to hide her emotions behind a mask so no one in this court of vipers could learn her secrets.

Mariah took another step, letting the heel of her boot scuff across the marble floor. Delaynie slowly lifted her gaze from her father and turned it to Mariah.

That mask was there, to be sure. All her emotions carefully cloistered behind a face of polished beauty. But deep in her blue-gray eyes, Mariah saw the truth—the pain, the heartbreak, the guilt and sadness and rage.

That rage surprised Mariah the most.

Mariah shifted on her feet.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Del. Nothing I could say could make this better, but … I’m here for you. I need you to know that.”

Delaynie blinked. Briella turned, smiling sadly at Mariah and dipping her head, just once, before returning to her silent vigil.

“You are … sorry?” Delaynie said, her brows lifting with muted surprise.

Mariah tensed. “Yes. I’m sorry. I want to know if there’s anything I can do.” Her words felt rigid and forced.

All that had happened—it was too much. She wanted to be there for her friend; a friend who’d fought for her when she hadn’t, who’d reminded her what it meant to beher. But she couldn’t.

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